Chapter 32 Sour Memories

Chapter 32 Sour Memories
William's POV

Sleep wouldn't come. I laid staring at the ceiling for a long time, the events from earlier replaying over and over in my head.

Especially hearing Conner’s wolf.

It wasn't unusual for wolves to share psychic links. It happened with soul bonded wolves. Like spouses, Alpha and his beta, and in some cases, twins or triplets. The wolves in question had to be very close for this to happen though.
Which begged the question why? Conner and I were as far from close as we could be. We were literally in a brawl when it happened.

Unable to shake off the feelings of unease, I got up and decided to take a walk. The palace was eerily silent at night save for the occasional wolf howl in the woods. My soft footfall echoed around the halls as I walked aimlessly around.
I somehow found Conner’s room by the muffled grunts of frustration coming from within. I heard the faint sound of lasers hitting their target. Video games.

Again, I thought of his wolf's voice. To think Conner and I were not even close enough to know what each other's wolves were called. We had gotten our abilities in two different continents.
I continued on my walk, exploring parts of the castle I hadn't seen before. After about forty minutes of wandering, I came upon an entire wing of the house under lock and key.

I was going to walk past it but something drew me to the wide oak doors. A sense of trepidation and …..familiarity.
I knew this place.

I tugged on the heavy lock and looked around for a key. Sure enough, I spotted one sitting in a flower vase. I slotted it in and I worked. The door made a grating creak as I pushed it open. Like it hadn't been opened in years, or it didn't get opened very often.
The musty air filled my nostrils and I sneezed. I stepped into the plush green carpeting and stared at the hallway before me. The walls were adorned with paintings and doors leading to rooms. At the end of the hallway stood a big white door.

My stomach twisted into knots as the feeling of familiarity increased.
I opened the first door and squinted into the darkness. It wasn't as dusty as I feared. Like the staff cleaned up at least twice a year. A huge piano stood on a raised dais in the middle of the room.

Memories came flooding in. Not of her face or any particular day I was in this room. But sounds. The sound of her fingers on the keys. The sound of her laughter as she played a merry tune.
The sound of happiness.

I closed the door.
Pretty sure I knew where I was now. This used to be my family's living quarters .

I wanted to walk back out. Lock the doors and return the key where I saw it. But curiosity kept me moving forward. The last time I'd been here, I was barely six. I couldn't remember much from that time except my mother's death and a scattered few moments.
Conner was wrong. Living with your mother's twin did not replace her. It did not help me keep her face in my memory. Or her voice. Or the feel of her hugs.

The next room was filled with various knick knacks. A sort of hasty storage unit. Baby clothes, toys, books, empty tins of baby formula.
I picked up a blue sneaker. It had the initials CR on it. With a snort, I recalled that my parents used to brand every of our belongings with our initials. It would have been easier to get us different coloured items but mum wanted us to be dressed exactly the same.

I picked up an identical blue baby sneaker and sure enough , the initials WR was written on the sole. All that stopped after she died and I went to live with her sister. No use for writing initials anymore.

I walked through the room, smiling to myself as I picked up baby items. The drawings were especially funny.
My curiosity sated, I headed for the next door. The one right before the big white one. I already knew what I would find.

Our old nursery.
I didn't go past the threshold. Most of the stuff had been cleared out anyway, save for the twin beds and the yellow hand painted floor to ceiling closet. I sighed as I looked towards the white door.
My hands were starting to shake now. My breathing short.

Taking a breath to steady myself, I pushed open the door.

Dad had kept everything in tact. Like she never left. Just as I suspected he would.
A beam of moonlight streaked in through a crack in the curtains. The bed was made, her favorite novel lay on the nightstand, a pair of sage green slippers stood on her side of the bed.

I stood at the door for what felt like a long time, frozen in place, unable to move.
I remembered being in this room. Snuggling between mum and Dad in that king sized bed. I remember playing with toy cars on the floor with Conner while mum laid in bed reading a novel. I remembered her humming as she dressed up for a wedding. The door to the walk in closet stared at me. If I walked in there, I knew I would find her clothes still hung up neatly like she was going to still need them someday.
A memory was creeping in, darkening all the rest.
A memory of the last day I spent in this room.

I had been standing in this exact spot. Five and a half, my hands sticky with raspberry jam from the half eaten sandwich clasped in it.

I stood there as I watched my mother choke to death.

I remember being confused. Staring at her on the bed as she coughed and scrambled for the glass of water on the nightstand. She'd been sick for a week. I didn't know what the sickness was. It wasn't like anyone bothered to give us details. We were kids. All I knew was that she coughed a lot and was always in bed.
I couldn't remember why I was even in her room. We'd been instructed not to disturb her for the rest of that day but I found myself there somehow.

The coughing got louder, more severe. She sat up and saw me.
“W..wi…” and she started coughing again.
I should've gone to her then. Maybe I would have been able to give her the glass of water on the nightstand.

She tried to reach for it. The cough was wracking her body now. She Knocked it over and the glass broke. The loud sound of glass shattering startled me. Made me freeze up more.
I could feel it. Could feel something was about to go horribly wrong. And the fear held me in place.

Then I saw the blood. Spilling down her lips with each cough. Scary amounts of it.
It poured down her neck, staining her lilac nightdress, covering her hands as she tried to stop it.
She dragged herself out of the bed, rolled and fell to the floor.

Finally I snapped out of it and screamed.
A little too late because a nurse was already at the door by the time I did.

“Oh goddess!" She yelled, “Luna? Can you hear me?"
More people poured into the room. Two doctors, servants, Conner.
I remember him standing beside me for a moment, taking in the terrifying scene before him and then he began to cry and yell out for our mother. Hearing his reaction prompted me to do the same.

All the shock and terror flooded me at once and I began crying louder than Conner was.

A nurse carried us out. Assured us our mother would be alright.
But there were tears in her eyes. Our mother was already gone.

Now, thirteen and a half years later, I stood in the same spot, wondering if she would've lived if I hadn't been so scared.

I couldn't blame Conner for thinking I was the cause of her death. I thought the same on some days too.
Tears had formed in the corner of my eyes without me realizing it. I walked into the room slowly. Towards her side of bed. Where she had been lying on that fateful day.

I wished I could tell her I was sorry. Wished I could run to her and offer that glass of water. Maybe it would've saved her life.

I placed a hand on the bed gently. And then lowered myself into it.
I would give anything to hear her voice once more. Anything to hear her say she never blamed me for her death. I was just a child. There was nothing I could've done.

I hadn't cried over my mother's death in at least seven years.
I cried that night. Burying my head in the pillow that somehow still smelled faintly of her.

I cried until I fell asleep in my mother's bed.